


The Dark Rain

by Pale Rider (Boothros)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 09:19:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boothros/pseuds/Pale%20Rider





	The Dark Rain

The rain was endless.

Ray Doyle wondered if he could ever contemplate his studies without its constant accompaniment, as used to its continuous torrent as he was.

London it seemed, had been rained on for months.

He looked out at the wet blackness from the dubious comfort of his tiny flat. His mood matched the darkness, the view providing no inspiration for his mental toil. Yet another tough exam which though he might just scrape through, would be unlikely to project his career further.

He’d been here before, more than once. He was overqualified for the post he was in yet somehow, when he put in for vacant positions, there was always some other bloke, some _better_ bloke that had been magically conjured up to steal what should be his for the taking.

He was seriously considering Mr Cowley’s call. As a younger man with the idiocy of youth, he’d dreamed of such a thing. Now older and _slightly_ wiser, he was reluctant to burn his bridges.

The wet blackness stared back at him from his high-rise window, mirroring his soul. He was lonely, he was undervalued and he was going nowhere fast.

He looked out for the last time at the dreadful wet before slamming his book shut and coming to a decision.

Tomorrow he would make a call.

*****

W.A.P Bodie swatted another mosquito from his chin.

Of all the training exercises his unit undertook, it was those in the desert that he hated the most. Too many memories surfaced from his younger, hellfire days. Too many images of fire and sun and death.

He understood the training even if the unit were one of the most experienced he’d ever seen action with. Often the real thing proved paltry compared to the drills, but even hardened men could get stale without regular testing.

Bodie was getting stale. He wasn’t _bored_ exactly, more disillusioned. The same old wars, the same conflicts, the same arguments would carry on long after his unmarked demise. There had to be something wrong when he missed something as basic as seeing the rain. Bodie couldn’t explain it as he knew there no torture worse than being cold and wet.

He’d been approached by a Major Cowley and was seriously thinking of paying heed to the request. It meant working from London. Plenty of black, cold rain there to be had, but a new regime under an unknown new boss.

Under darkening arid skies, Bodie contemplated the future as he seldom did. His roots were bedded in shallow soil. Though loyal to his comrades, he wouldn’t mourn their passing any more than they would his.

The exercise would be over by dawn. Thinking of dark wet London streets, he’d find a field telephone and place a call.

 

 


End file.
